Sign The Divorce Papers, Mr. Billionaire

The heavy bass from the club downstairs vibrated through the thick Persian rug, traveling up the stiletto heels of Coralie Hyde's shoes and settling deep in her bones.

She walked down the dimly lit VIP hallway of the exclusive Manhattan private club. The air smelled of expensive cigars and spilled secrets.

Coralie rounded a massive marble sculpture. Her eyes locked onto the frosted glass door of Suite 88. It was slightly ajar.

Cale Montgomery leaned against the walnut-paneled wall of the corridor. His broad shoulders relaxed. His tie hung loose around his neck.

Hayleigh Burns stood pressed against him. Her body was poured into a tight red dress. Hayleigh's manicured fingers toyed with the second button of Cale's crisp white shirt.

Cale did not push her away. Instead, he looked down at her with a lazy, indulgent smirk playing on his lips.

Coralie's stomach dropped. A sharp, physical pain radiated from her sternum, making it hard to draw a breath.

Three years of marriage. Three years of telling herself he was just busy, just cold, just reserved. The perfect filter she had placed over her life shattered into jagged pieces right there in the hallway.

She sucked in a sharp breath. The cold air hit the back of her throat. The tightness in her chest hardened into something solid. Ice cold.

Coralie lengthened her stride. She stopped trying to walk softly. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble border of the rug.

Cale's head snapped up at the sound. His dark eyes cut through the dim lighting.

When he recognized his usually compliant, quiet wife, his pupils dilated. A microscopic flinch tightened his jaw.

Hayleigh felt him tense. She frowned, turning her head to glare at the woman interrupting them.

Coralie stopped exactly two feet away from them. She kept her spine perfectly straight. She tilted her chin up.

Hayleigh rolled her eyes. She let out a loud, mocking scoff and pressed her breasts harder against Cale's arm.

A waiter in a black vest hurried down the hallway. He carried a silver tray loaded with freshly poured, ice-cold martinis.

A memory of last week's anniversary, when he hadn't even come home, flashed in her mind. That, combined with the sight of them right now... it was enough. The three years of silent submission finally reached its breaking point. Coralie did not hesitate. She reached out with her left hand-the hand wearing the massive Montgomery diamond ring. She grabbed a full martini glass off the tray.

The waiter gasped, freezing in his tracks.

Coralie flicked her wrist. The movement was smooth, almost practiced.

The freezing alcohol and the green olive flew through the air. The liquid hit Hayleigh squarely in the face.

Hayleigh shrieked. The piercing sound echoed off the walnut walls. She stumbled backward, her high heel twisting. She slammed her shoulder into the wall.

The expensive red silk of her dress instantly darkened, clinging wetly to her skin. Mascara ran down her cheeks in thick, black lines.

Cale's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked near his ear. Shock flashed across his face, quickly followed by the cold fury of a man whose authority had just been publicly challenged. He had never seen Coralie act out of line. Never.

He pushed off the wall, standing at his full, intimidating height. He opened his mouth, his brow furrowed, ready to use that low, commanding tone that usually made her submit.

Coralie didn't give him the chance. She raised her left hand, palm out, silencing him.

She stared directly into his eyes. Her gaze was completely dead.

Cale swallowed hard. The words died in his throat. The sheer coldness in her eyes physically repelled him.

Hayleigh began to sob loudly. She grabbed the sleeve of Cale's suit jacket, trying to hide behind him.

Mr. Foster, the club manager, came sprinting down the hallway. Two large security guards jogged heavily behind him, their radios crackling.

Coralie didn't even glance at Hayleigh. She tossed the empty martini glass back onto the waiter's tray. The glass hit the silver metal with a loud clatter.

She opened her designer clutch. She pulled out a white tissue and meticulously wiped her fingers, as if touching the glass had contaminated her.

Coralie looked at Cale. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

"This fake marriage game is over, Cale."